A faithful maiden for the broken Earl (The Winters Sisters) (Regency Tales Book 20) Read online

  “The stepson is, of course, the new Earl of Stanway.”

  “Was, surely,” Caroline corrected. “If he is lost to the grave also, then has the title not already passed to some relative?”

  Theodora shook her head.

  “Lady Stanway is quite convinced that her stepson is dead and acts accordingly. However, no confirmation of his death has ever been received or provided. Therefore, it is not widely accepted that the new Earl of Stanway is dead, even though Lady Stanway demands it is true.”

  Caroline blinked, trying to take in this news without appearing to be overly surprised.

  “It is best you know this prior to meeting the woman,” Theodora continued, with a small shrug as though it was to be expected that such eccentricity should be easily accepted. “What seems to have occurred is that the son did not return from the continent when his father died.”

  “Gracious!” Caroline exclaimed, her consideration of the Earl immediately changing. To hear that a son had not returned to mourn and bury his father was more than a little shocking.

  “But it was in order that he might continue to fight in the battle against Napoleon,” Theodora continued, by way of explanation. “There is some honour in that, I must admit.”

  Caroline pressed her lips together tightly, not quite certain what to make of this. “I suppose there is something to be said for that,” she agreed, slowly. “But still, I can understand Lady Stanway’s shock at being left to deal with her husband’s death alone.”

  “Indeed,” Theodora agreed, her expression a little distant. “Sotheby has attempted to speak to her about this matter but Lady Stanway will not be moved.” She spread her hands. “As far as she is concerned, her stepson is dead and gone from this earth. Her heart is hardened towards him and she cannot bear to see him again. Therefore, she does not even allow herself to consider him to be alive, for it is as though it would be too much to bear.”

  “Then I am sorry for them both,” Caroline replied, as the carriage began to slow, “and I pray that Lord Stanway, wherever he may be, finds the strength to return to England and to his stepmother. A reconciliation could bring healing to both of their hearts.”

  Theodora smiled, reached forward and pressed Caroline’s hand. “Your kind heart becomes you, Caroline,” she said, softly, as the carriage door was opened. “But I must warn you not to say a word to Lady Stanway about her stepson. It will not do you any good.”

  Caroline nodded but remained silent. She was beginning to feel a trifle anxious over meeting Lady Stanway, even though she knew there was nothing particular to fear. The lady would either accept her as a companion or she would not. All Caroline could do was pray that the meeting would be successful.

  ***

  “So, you are Miss Caroline Winters.”

  Caroline nodded, aware that they had not yet been asked to seat themselves and feeling very much that Lady Stanway was surveying her with a severely critical eye.

  “Duchess, please have a seat,” Lady Stanway said to Theodora. As her sister sat down, Caroline followed suit. It was one of the few occasions she was reminded that as a duchess her sister outranked most of the peerage, save the royal family. One does not leave one’s betters standing.

  “Your sister tells me that you struggle somewhat in society.”

  “I did not say as much as that!” Theodora protested, quickly, looking at Caroline with wide eyes. “I stated that you had not had a particularly successful Season these last three years and therefore –”

  “I struggle to maintain a conversation with any gentleman who approaches me, Lady Stanway,” Caroline interrupted, not feeling any sort of frustration or anger towards her sister and, therefore, deciding it was best to speak truthfully. From the sharpness of Lady Stanway’s eyes, she presumed that the lady would prefer a direct honesty as opposed to hidden words. “Everyone believed that I would make a very quick match and, therefore, have a more than successful Season, but the last three years have proved otherwise.” She spread her hands for a moment before holding them in front of her again. “I have tried and failed to overcome my weakness and lack of ability to maintain a conversation whenever a gentleman is nearby, but I cannot pretend that I have been able to make any progress whatsoever. It is quite inexplicable.”

  Lady Stanway nodded slowly, her dark brown eyes gleaming gently as she looked at Caroline. “And so you have decided to become a companion, is that correct?”

  Caroline nodded. “I can see no reason not to do so.” She held Lady Stanway’s gaze, taking in the tall, thin lady with the thick pile of grey curls piled onto the top of her head. She wore no cap and her clothes were rather bright in colour for a lady of her age and distinction, but Caroline put this down to the eccentricity that Theodora had spoken of. She found herself already liking Lady Stanway, even though she had a fierce gaze and a manner of speaking that was somewhat blunt, feeling that they would rub along quite well together, as Theodora had suggested. There was nothing about the lady that spoke of a dull nature or days torn apart by boredom or the like. There might be a good deal of fun in being Lady Stanway’s companion.

  “Then I can see no reason as to why you cannot be my companion, Miss Winters,” Lady Stanway said, in response to Caroline’s answer. “I do not require you to live here, however. You are to appear in the morning, after breaking your fast, and remain here until after dinner. Once we have taken tea, then you shall be free to return home. I understand there is to be a wedding.” She smiled at Caroline, who was quite certain she saw a flicker of sympathy in Lady Stanway’s eyes.

  “Indeed,” Caroline replied, without inflexion. “Thank you, Lady Stanway. And when might you wish me to begin?”

  “Why, this very day!” Lady Stanway cried, gesturing animated to Caroline. “And I shall send you home in my carriage once we have both attended Lord Morton’s soiree this evening.”

  Caroline swallowed hard and prayed that she would be able to slip into the shadows, unseen, at whatever occasion Lady Stanway intended to take her along to.

  “What say you, Miss Winters?” Lady Stanway asked, sounding a trifle impatient. “Does that satisfy you?”

  “Yes, of course,” Caroline agreed at once, not seeing anything else to say. “Thank you, Lady Stanway. I look forward to getting to know you better in due course and hope that I shall be a satisfactory companion.”

  Lady Stanway smiled. “I am quite sure you shall be, Miss Winters,” she said, before getting up to ring the bell for tea.

  ***

  “I am just going to lie down.”

  Caroline looked up to see Lady Stanway walk into the drawing room, where Caroline had been busy straightening a few things and preparing the room for Lady Stanway’s arrival after luncheon.

  “I know how dearly you love to have some time in the library,” Lady Stanway replied, her eyes softening as she smiled at Caroline. “Why do you not take a tea tray there and have some time to read?”

  Caroline smiled back, thinking that, over the last fortnight, Lady Stanway had proven herself to be kind and generous – which was just as Caroline had hoped. Yes, there was that streak of eccentricity and, as yet, Caroline had never once asked her about her stepson nor the loss of her husband but felt no particular need to do so as yet.

  “I shall,” she agreed, seeing Lady Stanway nod satisfactorily. “Thank you. Are we to go out this evening?”

  Lady Stanway nodded, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall. “The theatre, I think.” Her expression cleared and she chuckled. “So there will be no need for you to hide anywhere, Miss Winters.”

  A flush crept into Caroline’s face but she laughed along with Lady Stanway, knowing full well that she did her utmost to hide away in any nook or cranny whenever they had gone out to any social occasion.

  “I look forward to it, Lady Stanway.”

  “Make sure you change,” Lady Stanway replied, as she walked to the door. “Your lavender gown would do wonderfully.”

  Caroline, who still did not reside with Lady Stanway but rather returned each day as she had been requested, nodded and turned back to what she had been doing. A few of her very best gowns had been brought to Lady Stanway’s home and Caroline had been given a room of her own, where she might change and prepare for any occasion they went to. Gowns were changed as required and, thus far, both Caroline and Lady Stanway were quite pleased with how the arrangement was working out. It was certainly a good deal better than what Caroline had been faced with before, for the prospect of going out amongst society with one married sister and one engaged sister by her side was more than a little mortifying. At least with Lady Stanway, she could easily escape notice by removing herself from the conversations and choosing, instead, to remain at the sides or the back of the room to merely observe the guests. Lady Stanway was very good at conversing and clearly enjoyed the company of many gentlemen and ladies, and many of them sought her out each and every time she made an appearance. Caroline had not thought that Lady Stanway had noticed her hurry to hide herself away, but apparently, she had done so.

  Making her way to the library and grateful for the time she would have alone to read and to think, Caroline sighed contentedly to herself as she sat down in the seat by the fire, her book ready at her hand from where she had placed it last evening. She was just about to pick it up and find her place, when something caught her eye.

  It was a letter.

  Frowning, Caroline studied it for a moment. There was a small fire burning in the grate and, from where the letter was lying on the hearth, it was as though someone had attempted to throw the letter into the flames but it had not landed as expected.

  “How very odd,” Caroline murmured aloud, getting up from her chair and reaching out to take the letter. Actually it was several letters at
tached together. Caroline frowned.

  Surely the person attempting to rid themselves of these letters would have noticed that the bundle had not reached the fire? Unless they had tossed it away in anger and then turned on their heel and walked away, not turning around to check whether they were safely destroyed. Her instincts told her that she should not read such a correspondence and that, in fact, she should simply do as its owner had attempted and throw it into the flames.

  However, something within her could not do so. Her curiosity was piqued, particularly when she turned it about and saw that it was addressed to Lady Stanway. The seal was broken but it remained folded, as though it had not been read. Had Lady Stanway turned from it? Had she not wanted to read what was within?

  Caroline’s breath caught, her eyes flaring as she suddenly recalled what had occurred last evening. Lady Stanway had been handed a letter but she had taken one look at it and turned her head away. The letter had been given back to the butler and he had been told to take it to the library.

  The letter on the very top of the bundle looked suspiciously like that very same letter. Had Lady Stanway attempted to throw into the flames?

  Awash with guilt but unable to fight her curiosity any more, Caroline pulled a random letter out of the bundle, opened it and let her eyes drift over the page.

  Her heart tore.

  

  Dear Mama,

  I hope you will not mind me calling you so. All my life I have known you thus, now that I am nearing the end, I cannot deny what you have always meant to me, mother.

  I write this letter under the roar of cannon fire, my soldiers call me mad for risking my life for a letter, but these words escape from my breast lest they grow as a briar around my heart.

  The downtrodden litter the battlefield, forgotten by those who lord over them. My heart grows weary as the cries of infants and peasants. Or mayhaps it is just still broken by the death of father.

  Despite the danger that surrounds me and death that stalks me I find that writing the word death and father in the same sentence brings about a painful pang that I can no longer ignore.

  I have written to you so many times before. I am sure you have read none of my correspondence. Had you done so you would still not have seen the words that I am about to utter.

  Mama – I am sorry. My sensibilities took over and overrode all common sense and decency upon the death of father. I could not bear to watch his lifeless body covered in dirt, could not bear hearing the priest return his body to whence we all came. I could not have run further from home and now I do not know how to run back.

  Should I perish on this battlefield, I pray that you not think ill of me…mayhaps I shall meet father sooner than we both would have anticipated. I end my letter here, not because I am at a loss for words, because I am not, there is much that is left unsaid and my mind shall not rest until it is done. But it is now time to fight. I pray I survive this skirmish. I do not want my last resting place to be on the fields of Leipzig. No I cannot accept any other fate than a burial on England’s greenest hills.

  Forever yours,

  Francis

  

  Caroline put down the letter, her heart constricting. Unable to stop herself she picked up a second letter.

  The Earl of Stanway, a man she had never met and whom Lady Stanway wished to forget entirely, had written to his stepmother in the hope that it might reach her before his death. Regrets and shame poured through the pages and melted Caroline’s heart with sympathy and compassion. He spoke of sacrifices, of the choices he had made and the consequences that had followed. He spoke like a man who had no hope left within him.

  A tear dripped onto the page and it was only then that Caroline realised she was crying. Her heart was aching for this poor, unfortunate gentleman who was now plagued with a terrible illness. She knew that Lady Stanway would not reply to him, would not so much as allow herself to even consider it, but Caroline knew she could not allow there to be no response. It was not her place, of course, but something within her forced her to act.

  Something caught her eye, then. The return address of the last letter was somewhere in England. He was not in the continent any longer, it seemed. How terrible it would be for him to die in the country he called his own, without a single bit of comfort from any that knew him!

  Hurrying to a writing desk, Caroline set everything out with shaking hands, a sense of urgency filling her. She did not know whether the Earl was alive or dead but one thing she knew for certain – she had to write to him words of comfort, of hope and faith. It was the only relief she could bring to a suffering gentleman, even if she did not know him at all.

  

  “Do not give up on yourself, no matter how difficult you might find your current predicament. There is always light, even though it may be very faint.”

  

  THREE

  “You have received a letter, Lord Stanway.”

  Francis, the Earl of Stanway, groaned as he sat up, finding the pain in his thigh almost too much to bear. How long he had lain in his bed, he could not tell for the journey back home to England had been nothing but a myriad of swells, thunderstorms, pain and a desperate, overwhelming desire to lose himself in sleep. That had been stolen from him, however, given the sickness and the stench that seemed to fill his lungs with every breath he took. How glad he was to be back on England’s shores, even though he had not moved from the inn for some days. How many days, he could not quite say, for he had done very little but sleep.

  “Do you wish me to aid you, my lord?”

  Francis closed his eyes tightly against another wave of pain.

  “Yes,” he grunted, still feeling as though he were clinging closer to death than to life. “I barely have the strength to lift my head.”

  It was shameful having to engage the aid of one’s staff in such a physical way, for it made him even more aware of just how weak and useless he was – but there was very little else available to Francis.

  He would not even have been able to return to England, had it not been for his manservant, Stevenson. He might very well have died out on the continent. The only way he had managed to return home without succumbing to the eager clutches of death was due to his manservant and the doctor that his manservant had found in order to accompany them back to England.

  “How do you fare, my lord?”

  Looking up into his manservant’s face with bleary eyes, Francis settled back against the pillows, his pain easing only slightly as he tried to relax.

  “I am as content as I can be,” he admitted, his tone a little harsher than he had intended. “The letter.” His heart twisted as he received the letter from Stevenson, looking down at the writing and praying that this would not be a letter of rejection.

  He would not be able to return to the house if his stepmother did not wish him to do so. It was, of course, his right and his duty to live in his London townhouse, but since his stepmother had not once written to him since his father’s death, he did not want to introduce and make himself unwelcome. Especially since he was no longer the man who had left England’s shores some five years ago, given that he was badly crippled and could not so much as walk without a pronounced limp. He had been told that he was lucky not to have lost his limb but there was very little thankfulness in Francis’ heart over his loss of ability. All he felt was darkness, his heart encased in shadows.

  “At least she has returned my letter,” he muttered to himself, before telling his manservant to fetch him something hot to drink. It was not that he was thirsty particularly but rather that he simply wanted to be alone. This was the first letter his stepmother had written to him in some three years and given that he could not tell what would be contained within it, he wanted solitude by which to read it.

  Breaking the seal, Francis opened the letter and, with trembling hands that both frustrated and angered him as it was yet another reminder of his weakness, allowed his eyes to rest on the words contained therein.

  His heart began to fill as he read them. This could not be his stepmother, he realised, as his eyes ran over the page. She would never have written to him with such a kindness of manner and spirit such as this! She had become hard towards him, ever since he had chosen his duty to the country over his responsibilities towards his family. The kindness contained in this letter could not be from her.